The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

The good news: he wasn't blind. The bad news: the soldiers were there for him. Michael reached for his hand as they grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly hauled him out of the cell. Michael yelled his name and senseless threats as they dragged him up the stairs. Michael, stupid, beautiful, deceitful, lying Michael had a full melt-down as they took him away to his inevitable demise. Leo was just relieved that it was finally over. The Evil Cult wore robes of dark wine red and stood in a windowless room, smoke-filled from the torches and the unseasonably warm fire raging in the hearth. They didn't speak to him. They chained him to a ring in the middle of the room, carved all over with runes and sigils. Leo recognized some of them, but not all. Then the chanting started. He felt the ripple of power under it, but it didn't seem directed at him. Then the bleeding started, and the sense of power became tangible, overwhelming, like an extremely large wolf panting in his face. Then what was left of his shirt was ripped away, and one of the red-clad figures began to carve into him. Leo screamed. He didn't think he had any capacity left for suffering, but this went far beyond any physical pain. It felt like they were carving directly into his soul. He didn't think anything could be worse than what the druids had done to break his binding, but he was wrong. He thought that he might pass out, he prayed that he would pass out, but oblivion eluded him. In the pause between marks, as he fought for breath, he begged. Mindless, senseless begging that he might have once thought was beneath him but was now the only thought that could break through the pain. Please. Please. Stop. Please. Just kill me. Please. No more. No more. No more. An eternity later the cult leader stepped back into the circle. Leo collapsed in relief, his mind searingly empty of all but the emptiness of that pain. The chains held his arms taut so he couldn't curl up in a ball of misery, but he rested his cheek against the cold stone and hoped that the killing blow would come next. Instead, they started chanting again. The words and the power wormed their way through the fresh, bloodied cuts on his back. He felt them curl into his skin and reach down into muscle, sinew and bone. The chanting stopped. The leader commanded: "Rise!" Leo's muscles twitched and spasmed, but nothing else happened. He could feel the binding just under his skin, but it didn't go any deeper, and it was already fading. The leader tried again. "Speak!" Leo laughed at him. There was frowning and muttered grumbling. The leader tried one more time. "Servant of the witch-lords, I command you to rise and kneel before your leader." "Are you trying to--" Leo was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. "Are you trying to bind me? Without the crown? Are you stupid?" The leader frowned. "The crown was used to control many sorcerers at once. With only one to manage, an individual binding should be fine." "Maybe," Leo wheezed. "If I hadn't already been bound, and freed, and retaught myself magic around that giant scar on my back. I mean, you can't have missed it. I'm practically naked here and you've been decorating around it for the past half hour." He yanked at the chains, trying to find enough purchase to pull himself into a sitting position. "You are playing with forces beyond your understanding and you have no idea what you're doing." Just for fun, he checked to see if all that stupid blood magic they'd poured into him was going to be useful for anything. It wasn't. "Tell us," the cult leader said frowning. "What magic did our ancestors use to bind you?" "I don't know," Leo said, and although it hurt to even breathe, he laughed again. "And if I did, I would not tell you." "We could torture it out of him!" someone suggested. "Do you really think that there is anything you can do to me that was worse than that?" Leo demanded. "Just kill me and get it over with." "Take him back to the dungeon," the cult leader declared. "We will discuss this without an audience." "Oh, don't be a coward," Leo snapped, fighting back the panic that suddenly engulfed him. "Just kill me! You know you're going to have to eventually!" The leader didn't take the bait. He waved his hands and the soldiers came forward. They unlocked the chains and dragged him back towards the stairs. He felt the bindings snap as they descended. Not only had those idiots only managed to bind his skin (and controlling someone's skin was a worse than useless power) but they hadn't even calculated the distance parameters correctly. Everyone one felt like a barbed fish hook being pulled out of his skin. His vision went foggy and he felt blood trickling out of his nose. By all the saints, why wasn't he dead yet? Functionally immortal, yes, but surely even a sorcerer couldn't take much more of this. The cage creaked open on rusty hinges and he was throne to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Michael was calling his name, reaching for him through the bars, but he couldn't make out the words over the roaring in his ears. He lay with his face pressed into the stone, sobbing for breath, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. Gently, almost imperceptibly, he felt a spiderweb of magic start to settle over his mind. He jerked away violently, all of his open wounds screaming in response to the sudden movement. "Sorry!" Michael said. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I was trying to help." Leo blinked, lost in the darkness and the pain, trying to parse that sentence apart to discern the meaning. "Help," he whispered hoarsely. "Yes," Michael said, and he could hear the tears in his voice. "I would never try to hurt you, Leo. I would never try to control you. But you're in so much pain and I think I can..." "Yes," his voice was full of desperation. "Help. Please." He tensed when the illusion magic touched his mind, but he didn't push it away. It settled over him gently, like a soft blanket. The throbbing pain faded. He could feel it was still there but distantly, like an unpleasant memory. He took a breath, and then another. He was so tired. He dragged himself to the edge of the cell, reaching out blindly. Michael caught his hands through the bars. Leo reached for his face, and his fingers brushed the wetness under Michael's eyes. Michael turned his head and kissed his palm. "Thank you," Leo whispered. "I'll hold it as long as I can," Michael promised. "Thank you," he repeated, and fell asleep.